


Shoes and Clothes

by Noppoh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noppoh/pseuds/Noppoh
Summary: Three house elves set out to help a Muggle shoemaker. This leads to some unforeseen consequences.





	Shoes and Clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maloreiy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maloreiy/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Once_Upon_a_Parchment](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Once_Upon_a_Parchment) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> The Elves and the Shoemaker
> 
> A poor shoemaker and his wife sell his last pair of shoes. They have just enough leather to make one more pair. After cutting it out, they go to bed, and elves in the night make the shoes, which the shoemaker can sell for much higher than usual. The money is used to pay their bills and purchase more leather. The same thing happens the second night. The third night, the shoemaker and his wife hide themselves to see what happens and see the elves. To thank them, they make little clothes for them. When the elves get the clothes, they are freed and run off and are never seen again.
> 
> Suggested characters: Something with house-elves  
> Suggested plot: Something very dark or something very funny
> 
> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.
> 
> Thank you to MrBenzedrine for all the time and work you put into beta-ing this story.
> 
> Results: Runner up 'Best Humor' & Runner up 'Best Drama'

 

Seleana’s hopeful look squeezed Glaric’s heart and killed him a little. Despondently, he shook his head, feeling like a failure. What kind of a man was he that he was incapable of taking care of his wife? He remembered how she looked when they were young: all curves, shiny hair and lovely smiles. Now she was too thin, hollow looking, and sombre.

Saddened, he sat himself down at the table. There were only two chairs left of the six they had once owned. The others had been sold to buy food or burned in the winter in order to survive the bitter cold. The small home they lived in had become empty over the last year, almost devoid of furniture.

He didn’t utter a word as his wife served him a very watery soup with some old vegetables and rock-hard bread. She did a wonderful job creating something edible with what little they could afford.

“I have one piece of leather left. Tomorrow I will turn it into the best shoes I’ve ever made, I promise,” Glaric said to her. “Pray to the gods that I can find a buyer.”

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked to the Hogwarts’ kitchens. The students had left the castle the day before, and the lack of noise was both restful and disturbing, like walking into a haunted house during a monsoon.

As he tickled the pear and walked inside he was immediately accosted by a couple of house elves, offering him tea, biscuits, and lemon drops. He smiled and accepted, sitting down at the sturdy table. Even the atmosphere in the normally ever-busy kitchen was subdued. The house elves gathered around him; they had been expecting his visit.

“Congratulations on another year gone by,” he said, saluting the elves with his cup of tea.

They shuffled around. He told them the same thing every year, but still they were uncomfortable with his praise. The first time they had protested, saying it was only their job. He considered the shuffling of their feet an improvement.

“This year,” he continued, “Headmaster Dippet has informed me that there are no reparations or construction works needed around the castle, nor any extensive upkeep of the grounds.”

He could see the panic spreading through those gathered. Putting up a hand, he silently demanded their attention. He had expected their reaction and planned accordingly.

“To me, that does not mean that there is no work,” he said, “only that the work is not situated here at Hogwarts.” His eyes twinkled at the elve’s relieved sigh. “I suggest we do some good in the world, the magical and muggle alike. Look beyond the castle walls and help those in need. That will be your assignment this summer.”

He finished his tea and stood. “Well, you know how to find me when needed. Enjoy your summer and keep me updated.” Popping another lemon drop in his mouth, he left the elves to their work.

* * *

“We must find someone to help.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, deputy Master demands it from us.”

“Kind Master deputy.”

“Finding us work when Master Dippet does not.”

“We, house elves, should not sit idle. We are good workers.”

“Good workers.”

The three elves (Tripsy, Bonnet, and Pipo) were roaming the commercial town of Yarm in search of someone in need. The usual summer cleaning of Hogwarts was finished, and now they were out to honour deputy Headmaster Dumbledore’s request. The town was of mixed population. They glamoured themselves so that, to the Muggles, they looked like common people. The magicals, on the other hand, were giving them funny looks.

“He seems needy,” Pipo remarked, pointing at a man trudging across the town square with his head bowed down.

“You think?”

“Pipo thinks.”

“He thinks.”

They gave each other a conspiratorial look. “We think,” they chimed together.

Snapping his fingers, Bonnet put a tracer on the man, and the elves set out to follow him home. He led them to the labour district of the town. Smells of all kinds assaulted their sensitive noses, making them sneeze. They quickly scurried into a side alley as the gaunt looking man turned to look around before entering his home.

“Home needs work,” Tripsy commented.

“Looks sad,” Bonnet agreed.

Pipo merely nodded his assent.

“We could make it pretty,” Tripsy suggested.

They peered around the corner and looked through the window, watching the man and his wife eat at a table.

“What are they saying?”

Three pairs of ears twitched. _I have one piece of leather left. Tomorrow, I will turn them into the best shoes I’ve ever make, I promise._

The elves looked at each other, their big eyes growing even bigger.

“Shoes…”

“Shoes.”

“Shoes!”

Bonnet nodded vigorously. “We make man’s shoes when he sleeps, man can sell, and he can buy food.”

“Yes,” Tripsy agreed, “man is in need.”

“We will help,” Pipo added. “We are good elves.”

The trio grinned and blinked out of existence, back to the kitchens of Hogwarts to wait out the evening.

* * *

When the sun had set and the stars were twinkling in the sky, the elves returned to Yarm. They bounced around excitedly, happy to have a job to do after having to wait for what had seemed like ages.

“We must be quiet,” Tripsy said. “Would be bad to wake Muggle humans.”

“Silent as the night.”

“Floating like a ghost.”

Both Tripsy and Bonnet gave Pipo a strange look.

“What?” the latter asked. “Ghosts don’t make noise.”

“But we don’t float,” commented Bonnet.

“True.”

“True.”

“True.”

That settled, they quietly opened the door to Glaric’s workshop next to the house. Bonnet flicked his fingers, and floating lights appeared by the ceiling. The three elves looked around the workshop with wide eyes.

Tripsy and Pipo turned to Bonnet. “How do we make shoe?”

“Don’t know. Bonnet has never made a shoe. Don’t you know?”

“No.”

“No.”

They looked at each other and back around the workshop.

“We must try,” Pipo said. “We must not fail deputy Master.”

The other two agreed vehemently.

“Here’s the leather.” Tripsy called the others over to the last piece of leather in the workshop. “Now, how do we turn it into a shoe?”

“Magic?” Pipo offered.

“Of course!” Bonnet said, feeling rather stupid for not thinking about that before. He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. Frowning, he snapped his fingers again and again until Tripsy stopped him.

“Why it not working?” Bonnet asked, pouting at his failure.

Tripsy shrugged and snapped his own fingers. Still nothing happened. They looked at Pipo, who gave a half-hearted snap as well without any result.

“Maybe the leather doesn’t respond to magic?” Tripsy commented.

With a frown, Pipo snapped his fingers again, setting the leather on fire. Tripsy and Bonnet panicked, batting it, trying to put it out. They turned to Pipo.

“What does Pipo think he is doing?”

“Yes, why Pipo setting leather on fire?”

“Restore it!”

Pipo shrugged. “Now we know it responds to magic.” He cast the elven equivalent of a Reparo. “See, good as new now.”

For a moment they stared at the restored leather.

“It must not work because we do not know how to make shoes,” Bonnet finally said.

“Now what?” Pipo asked.

“What is shoe made of?” Bonnet asked.

“Leather,” Pipo answered with a grin.

Bonnet and Tripsy rolled their eyes.

“We need a heel,” Tripsy said, tapping his finger to his lips, “and a sole.”

“Yes, yes,” Bonnet continued, “and sides, and a strong tip and heel.”

“And shoelaces,” Pipo chimed in.

Bonnet rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get started!”

* * *

An hour later, the three elves stepped back and surveyed their work.

“Does not look like shoes,” Pipo stated.

“No.”

“No.”

Their ears flopped down, their eyes sad.

Bonnet let out a sigh. “We should try again.” Without waiting for an answer, he performed a complicated series of hand movements, returning the failed shoes back to the original piece of leather.

Meanwhile, Tripsy wandered around the room, looking at everything with big eyes. “Human has weird tools,” he commented. He dipped his fingers in a jar, rubbing the viscous liquid between his fingers and thumb, intent on finding out what it was. “Aaah! Tripsy has fingers stuck! Tripsy has fingers stuck!” He jumped around frantically, trying to separate the fingers he had glued together. Sparks flew from his fingers as he wildly tried to use magic to undo the glue’s effects.

Pipo laughed loudly, holding his sides and nearly toppling to the ground, while Bonnet rushed over to Tripsy and tried to calm his friend.

“Stop! Stop!” he shouted, to no avail. Eventually, he used something akin to Petrificus Totalus, subduing Tripsy and deftly removing the glue from his fingers.

“Sorry,” Tripsy said sheepishly once released from the body bind. He looked around the room and started putting out the small fires he had started in his panic.

Shaking his head, and after firing a glare at the still laughing Pipo, Bonnet started examining the tools Tripsy had just pointed out. “We should try and use human tool to make human shoe,” he said, pensive.

The other two went to stand next to him. “How?” Tripsy asked.

“This one looks like wooden foot without toes,” Pipo stated, holding up a shoe trees.

“Human has hammer and nails too,” Tripsy spoke up, looking at Pipo.

Pipo’s eyes widened comically. “Human puts nails in shoes?” he asked in horror.

“Probably to make holes,” Bonnet commented, still looking pensive. “Bonnet have ideas - let’s try to make good shoe.”

They agreed and recommenced, squabbling amongst themselves about how this and that should be used and made. Eventually, many tries later, right before dawn was upon them, the three elves proudly looked at an impeccable pair of shoes.

“We did it!” Pipo exclaimed, excited. “This looks like good shoes!”

“It does.”

“Yes.”

Pipo started dancing around the workshop happily. “We are shoemakers now!”

The other two grinned at Pipo’s antics until their ears twitched, catching a faint sound from the house.

“Human is waking up,” Tripsy noted.

“Yes,” Bonnet agreed, “we must not be seen.”

“No.”

Together they grabbed the still dancing Pipo and disappeared to Hogwarts.

* * *

Glaric woke up just before sunrise. His mind and body were weary, feeling the effects of malnourishment, but he grit his teeth and gathered his determination. Kissing his still sleeping wife gently on the cheek, he got out of bed.

 _I promise you, Seleana,_ he thought to himself, _I will make the best pair of shoes I’ve ever made and I will get food and riches back into this household. I promise I’ll take care of you. I promise._

After having splashed some water in his face, he pulled on his clothes and made his way down to the workshop. He swore violently as he saw the state his shop was in: tools thrown together and all over the place, a couple of scorch marks, pieces of leather on the floor.

He blanched when he noticed the discarded leather, knowing full well he would need all of that one last sheet he had left. He rushed into the room in search to that last piece of hope but stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted his worktable.

“Seleana! Seleana!” he yelled out, knowing she would hear him.

“What? What is it?” came the faint reply, followed by rushing footsteps. His wife stopped next to him, looking up at his astounded face. “What is it Glaric? Tell me.”

He merely pointed a finger at the perfectly manufactured pair of shoes that was standing on his workbench.

“What? How?” Seleana stuttered. “Did you work through the night?”

“No,” Glaric answered. “They were here. They were here when I came down. I’ve only just come down to work.”

“But - but that’s impossible.” Seleana stepped forward and hesitantly touched a shoe as if afraid it would disintegrate upon contact.

Glaric came to stand beside her and picked up the other shoe, studying it. “It’s flawless,” he breathed in wonder.

“Who made this?” his wife asked, wonder evident in her voice.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I feared the worst when I saw the disarray the workshop is in. I thought vandals might have broken in. Now, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

There was a heavy silence while both looked at the shoes and wondered.

“Whoever they are, we must pray our thanks to the Lord and ask Him to reward them for their good deed.”

Glaric agreed. “Yes. Let us go to the church and pray our thanks up to the heavens. Then I will go to the market and sell these fine shoes. They will make us a lot of money, love. I will be able to buy more leather and some vegetables for dinner!”

Seleana gently touched her husband’s face, looking up at him. “I would love that,” she said, before raising up on her tiptoes and kissing him.

* * *

After they took a nap, Bonnet, Tripsy, and Pipo returned to Yarm, wanting to know how their work had been received.It didn’t take them long to find Glaric at the market. He had just sold the shoes and was purchasing new leather from the tanner. The elves congratulated themselves, seeing that the man was able to buy two pieces of leather. However, when they saw how little vegetables he could buy with the remaining money, their ears flopped down.

“Not much food,” Pipo remarked.

“No.”

“Sad.”

“Not good.”

There was a long silence as they followed the shoemaker home. Through the window, they saw how happy his wife was with the few vegetables he brought her. All three elves blushed when she gave him a decent kiss for his efforts.

“We must help him again,” Tripsy said.

“He is still in need,” Bonnet agreed. “Less in need than before, but still in need.”

“We make more shoes?” Pipo asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

As agreed, they found themselves back in the workshop after nightfall.

“Ok,” Bonnet said, taking control, “let’s gather the supplies.”

Tripsy looked up at Bonnet. “Why not use magic? We know how to make shoes now; magic should work.”

“No, magic would look too perfect,” Bonnet replied. “It must look handcrafted.”

“But magic is handcrafted,” Pipo spoke up. “Spells are cast with hands.”

Bonnet rolled his eyes. “It must look like human made it.”

“Oh.”

Meanwhile, Tripsy was bringing all the tools to the workbench. He warily eyed the glue while carrying it over. “Glue is dangerous,” he muttered to himself.

They set out to make a new pair of shoes. Having figured out the process the day before, their work went smoothly, and they decided to make shoes out of both pieces of leather. By the time morning came, they cleaned up the workshop and returned to Hogwarts, happy with their work.

* * *

In the morning, Glaric rose with renewed invigoration. The evening before they had a decent meal in what seemed like forever, and there were two pieces of leather waiting for him to be turned into shoes. Like every morning, he gave his wife a peck on the cheek, threw some water in his face, got dressed, and went downstairs to the workshop.

Walking inside, he was happy to see that everything was still in its place, no tool had been strewn around and no extra scorch marks were visible. Eager to get started, he went to get his leather and once more stopped dead in his tracks.

“No way…” he mumbled

After having stared at two pairs of impeccable shoes, he turned and walked back to his still sleeping wife.

“Seleana,” he spoke, waking her, “Seleana, it happened again.”

“What did, dear?” his wife answered, still bleary from sleep.

“Shoes. The leather turned into shoes. Two pair of them.”

Seleana abruptly sat up. “No way!” she said, repeating his earlier words.

Glaric could only nod. His wife grabbed his arm and pulled him back downstairs so she could see for herself.

“You think it was the same people?” she asked him.

“Must be,” he answered. “That seems to be the most logical. But why anybody would bother, I can only guess, let alone someone who can make shoes of such quality.”

“We must once more pray to thank the kind soul who’s providing for us,” his wife stated firmly.

As the day before, Glaric agreed. They started their day with going to church, after which Seleana returned home for some housekeeping, and Glaric went on his way to the market to sell the shoes and buy some leather and much-needed nourishment.

“Do you think they will come again?” Seleana asked after dinner. They were both staring at the embers of the cooking fire, enjoying the peace and their full bellies.

“I don’t know,” Glaric answered. “I will stay up late and sneak back to the workplace, well after nightfall. Perhaps, if they return, I can get a good look at these mysterious benefactors.”

He did as promised and, when the church bell rang midnight, he tiptoed his way back down to the workshop by the light of a single candle. Carefully, as to not reveal his presence to the owners of the rather high-sounding voices he could hear coming from the workshop, he crept to the open door and peeked around the frame.

The sight that greeted him surprised him, and he had to stifle a gasp, freezing as the large ears of the weird creatures in front of him twitched.

“You hear something?”

“Must be wind.”

“Yes, wind.”

Glaric rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. The creatures - would he dare call them elves? - were all knuckles and bone, no taller than his legs were long, and with large ears, eyes and noses. He had never seen anything like them.

They were collectively working with his tools and the leather, bickering lightly amongst themselves, obviously used to working with each other. He rubbed his eyes again as one of them turned around, and the needle he had been using to puncture holes kept working on its own.

Magic! His first instinct was to be afraid. The church told them about witches and their strange, dangerous powers, how they would corrupt the village and make the water go bad _. Then again_ , he thought to himself, _these creatures have only helped us, no water has gone corrupt yet. Can their magic really be that bad? Perhaps it is different from that of witches?_

“Aah, I has fingers stuck again! Bonnet, Bonnet, help!”

Glaric smiled. No, these elves could not be dangerous. He watched them work a bit longer and took notice of their garments. _Are those - are those towels?_ The idea shocked him. Why would they wear towels? Surely, they must have clothes, no? An idea formed in his head as he silently made his way back to bed.

“And?” his wife asked him expectantly, for once waking before him.

“I believe that there will be a new pair of shoes waiting for us when we go down,” he answered.

“So they came back?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Who are they?”

“It’s not so much ‘who are they’ as it is ‘what are they’.”

Seleana gave him a confused look, and he tried, as best as he could, to explain what he had seen the night before. As he told her about the elve’s garments, his wife cried out in indignation, just as he had expected.

“How long do you think they will keep coming back?” she asked him.

“No idea.”

“Perhaps.” She hesitated. “Perhaps, if they keep coming back long enough, you could buy some cloth and I can sew them proper clothes?”

Glaric nodded. “My thoughts exactly,” he said before kissing his wife and getting ready for the day’s work.

To their happiness, the strange creatures kept helping night after night for another week. They made two pairs of shoes each night, even if Glaric brought home more pieces of leather. The other pieces he used himself.

He sold all the shoes at the market at a high price, and people were starting to notice. There were requests for custom made shoes. After three days, he had enough spare money to allow his wife to buy cloth for the elve’s clothes. She sewed every spare moment she had, hoping to finish before their little helpers decided their help was no longer needed.

Finally, eleven days after the first pair of shoes had magically appeared, his wife finished up the little trousers and T-shirts and wrapped them in old newspapers. They left the three packages in the workshop for the elves to find.

* * *

The trio appeared in the alleyway near the workshop just after nightfall.

“Human should not need our help much longer,” Bonnet commented.

“No,” Tripsy agreed, “plenty food now, plenty leather.”

“Man is happy,” Pipo added.

“One, perhaps two more nights should suffice,” Bonnet said.

The other two nodded in consent. Silently, like they had every evening, they opened the door to the workshop and checked to make sure no one was present before entering. It would be a bad thing if the shoemaker saw them.

“Look!” Pipo suddenly shouted joyfully. “Presents!” He skipped forward to the newspaper wrapped packages. “One for each of us.”

“Human saw us?” Tripsy asked.

“Not good,” Bonnet noted.

“But he gives us presents,” Pipo piped up, not thinking about the consequences of having a Muggle see magical house elves.

Bonnet looked at Tripsy. “This is our last night.”

The other nodded, and they called over Pipo to make their two last pairs of shoes. With an unspoken agreement, they decided to make them the best they had made up until now. Proud of their achievement, and happy to have been able to follow Deputy Master’s instructions so fully, they each took a package and returned to Hogwarts. They would open their gifts in the morning, once they had slept for a bit.

Predictably, it was Pipo who woke the other two in the morning, eager to see what the shoemaker had gifted them.

“I hope it is food,” he gushed, “homemade pie or something. Or perhaps wax to treat leather. Or tools, so we can make shoes here.”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon both Bonnet and Tripsy joined his speculations. They had left their gifts in a corner of the kitchen, knowing the other house elves wouldn’t take them. When they arrived, a few other elves were milling about, preparing breakfast for the few teachers who remained at the castle.

They grabbed their packages and sat themselves down at the large wooden table that stood in the middle of the kitchen. Pipo started tearing at the paper while Tripsy and Bonnet acted a bit more graceful. Suddenly, Pipo wailed and recoiled, shoving himself away from the table and stumbling over the bench in his haste to get away.

The other two looked at him in wonder, peeled away the last piece of paper, and gave similar reactions. An unearthly cry rose from their throats as they pulled at their ears, also trying to get as far away from the packages as possible.

“Clothes!” Pipo wailed. “Human gave us clothes!”

“No! Nonononono!” Tripsy howled, falling to his knees.

“We help him! We help human and he clothed us. Clothes!” Pipo continued, unable to comprehend how cruel this human could be.

Bonnet was sobbing, big tears flowing from his eyes. He looked around and saw that the other elves had recoiled as well. They were looking at them with confusion and distaste.

“We talk to Master Dippet,” he finally croaked out. “It was human who gave us clothes, human not Master.”

The other two turned to Bonnet, their sorrow filled faces lighting up with a little hope.

“Master Dippet,” Tripsy repeated.

They rushed off to the Headmaster’s office, in their panic forgetting that they could Apparate. The gargoyle stepped aside in recognition and allowed them to race up the rotating staircase. After having knocked and hearing a curt ‘enter’, they tumbled into the office.

“What is going on with you three?” Headmaster Dippet asked, looking up from the paperwork he was filling in.

The three elves wrung their hands, their eye wide.

“Master Dippet,” Bonnet started, taking the lead as he always did, “we have a, uhm, situation.”

“Clothes,” Pipo murmured.

Armando Dippet put down his quill and looked at the three elves in earnest. “Clothes?” he asked.

“Yes, Master Dippet,” Bonnet continued after a glare at Pipo. “Deputy Master Dumbledore told us no work in the castle and that we, instead, should go help people.”

“Typically Dumbledore,” Dippet muttered, moving his hands at the same time, urging Bonnet on.

“Well, we helped shoemaker. Muggle. He left us presents, we thought, wrapped in paper. We took them. Clothes sir, packages were clothes.”

The headmaster sat up a bit straighter. He had clothed elves under his roof? That wouldn’t do.

“But you see, Master,” Bonnet continued. “We was thinking. You are Master, not human, so clothes mean nothing? Sir?”

Dippet looked down upon the three elves in front of him. They looked like a miserable bunch, he concluded. _Pathetic little creatures, these house elves_ , he thought. He didn’t care who gave them the clothes. Clothed was clothed, end of story. These three could no longer be trusted.

“Remove yourself from this castle at once,” he said, dismissing them.

“Nooo!” Tripsy wailed, taking a few steps forward and throwing himself to the floor. “Please, Master Dippet, please. We good house elves. We hard workers. We did not want clothes, we did not know.”

His two friends followed his example, throwing themselves to the ground in front of the wizard. The headmaster couldn’t be bothered.

“Clothes are clothes,” he said haughtily. “You are no longer in service of Hogwarts, and therefore have no reason to still be here. Remove yourselves at once before I cast you out.”

“Yes, Master Dippet.”

Devastated, the three trudged out of the office.

“Deputy Dumbledore?” Pipo whispered. “Perhaps Deputy help us?”

Bonnet and Tripsy shrugged. “We can try,” Bonnet conceded.

In the way only house elves could, they sought out Albus Dumbledore and appeared by his side.

“Bonnet, Tripsy, Pipo,” he greeted them happily before he saw the looks on their faces. “What seems to be the matter?” he continued gravely.

He looked at them pityingly as they explained the situation. “If the Headmaster has made his decision, there is nothing more I can do, I’m sorry,” he told the trio. “This is not what I had in mind when I wanted you to go out and help those in need, and for that, too, I apologise.”

The elves started sobbing in earnest, realising just how dire their situation was.

“I would head back to Hogwarts to collect your things,” Dumbledore continued with a sigh. “Before the castle no longer recognises you and you can’t get in.”

They nodded, disappeared, and reappeared in the Hogwarts kitchen. The other elves recoiled from them, muttering amongst themselves.

“A disgrace”

“Accepted clothes”

“Don’t belong here”

“Bad elves”

“We did not know, we did not want this!” Pipo cried out, desperate.

The kitchen turned silent for a moment, then another house elf spoke up. “Go! Go and never show your faces here again. You  dishonour us with your presence; you’re no longer welcome here!”

Their ears hanging at an all-time low, still sobbing, they gathered their things and made to leave when, once again, a house elf called out.

“Don’t leave those wretched clothes here. You took them, so they are yours to deal with!”

“We don’t want them,” Tripsy answered.

“We don’t care!.”

Cheeks burning with humiliation, they grabbed the clothes, only touching the paper, and despondently left the castle. As soon as they were past the gates, the Hogwarts crest on their towels disappeared. Once more wailing at their loss, it took them a while to come up with a plan.

“Need shelter,” Bonnet finally croaked out. The other two looked at him with blank expressions. “Know cave, not far.” He grabbed Tripsy’s hand, who in turn grabbed Pipo, and Apparated them to a nearby cave. They were unwilling to stray too far from the castle that had been their home for decades. Once there, they sunk to the floor, shell-shocked by the events of the day, and eventually fell asleep.

The next morning, they gathered some wood and started a little fire. With empty eyes they stared into it, feeling numb. They hardly moved for days, eating what little they had brought back from Hogwarts, grieving their loss, too numb to consider their future.

“What now?” Tripsy eventually asked on the fourth day.

“Don’t know,” Bonnet answered.

“Look for new Master?” Pipo asked hopefully.

“No-one would want us,” Bonnet stated. “We are disgraced elves. Untrustworthy.”

“We can try,” Tripsy answered even though his voice sounded disconnected.

“Bonnet supposes.”

Over the following week, they set out to find a new Master. They knocked on the doors of all the wizarding families they could think of and were willing to serve. (Because, truth be told, no sane elf would volunteer to work for the Malfoy or the Lestrange family.) They were turned down time and time again. If it wasn’t by the lead elf, it was by the head of the household. Everywhere they went, they were called numerous names, none of them good. Their fellow house elves despised them, their potential masters distrusted them.

Eventually, there was no-one left to call upon, no family to ask for shelter. Back at their cave, the trio shivered with despair, fearing they would never find a Master again.

“Doomed.”

“Unwanted.”

“Good for nothing.”

“Cursed.”

“Disgraced.”

“Better off dead.”

“Pipo hates him!”

Tripsy and Bonnet looked at Pipo in surprise.

“Master Dippet?” Tripsy asked cautiously.

“Muggle man,” Pipo answered, sounding sullen.

“Shoe making human?” Tripsy asked, just to be certain.

“He give us clothes.”

“True.”

“True.”

“He not give us clothes, we not free.”

“True.”

“Very true.”

They all looked at each other.

“We helped him,” Tripsy stated, his eyes narrowing.

“He gave us clothes as thanks?” Bonnet questioned.

“Ungrateful,” Pipo chimed in.

“Unfair.”

“Evil.”

“He punished us.”

“For helping him.”

“We are disgrace because of him.”

“It is his fault.”

“He did this to us.”

“We should take help back.”

Again, Tripsy and Bonnet looked at Pipo with astonishment.

“You are right,” Tripsy said slowly.

“We can’t undo our help,” Bonnet stated soberly.

“Then punish him like he punish us,” Pipo answered, his eyes cold and his voice rather unforgiving.

A heavy silence followed his statement.

“Yes,” Tripsy finally said. “We hurt him like he hurt us.”

“He did this, he should pay!” Bonnet agreed.

“He should not have underestimated us,” Tripsy stated.

Pipo nodded. “We will get our payback!”

Bonnet stood up, a cold and determined look in his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said icily.

The three of them once more made their way to Yarm. After glamouring themselves in a side-alley, the took to the streets, trying to find the man they had helped and that had brought them their doom. Eventually, they made their way to his house.

The hatches on the workshop windows were open, giving the elves a clear view of the workshop within. It was obvious the shoemaker had been doing well. He looked much healthier than when the trio started helping him. He was smiling and humming to himself while he worked. Through the window, they could see his wife slowly roasting a rabbit above the fire while cutting vegetables and tossing them into a pot.

“They seem happy,” Tripsy noted, disdain clear in his voice.

Pipo grimaced. “Happy, while we suffer.”

“He will pay,” Bonnet said. “We will make them pay.”

“How?” Tripsy asked.

“Kill them!” Pipo’s voice hardly sounded like his own, rage and hate distorting its usual happy sound to a screech that could resemble that of a strix.

Bonnet slowly replied. “No, too easy, too soon. No suffering in death. We wait until nightfall, look around the house, learn what we can, plan from there.”

They grinned at each other and settled down to wait. Once the shoemaker and his wife went to bed, the three invaded the home, looking for potential weak spots.

“Ideas, ideas, ideas,” Pipo muttered.

“Yes, plenty ideas,” Bonnet agreed.

Tripsy looked up. “A storm comes tomorrow evening.”

Once more grinning, they disappeared.

* * *

“It looks like it’s going to rain tonight,” Glaric informed his wife while he closed the hatches. “The sky is turning awfully dark.”

“The farmers will be happy,” Seleana answered. “They have been complaining about the drought.”

“And tomorrow they will complain about too much water. You know how they are Seleana.”

He smiled at his wife. He was glad to see that she was once more in good spirits. She smiled at him, and she was looking decidedly healthier. There was no way he could fully repay the kindness of those creatures. He would only hope the little clothes had been sufficient to convey their gratitude. Kissing his wife good night, he crawled under the covers just as the first rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

They were roughly awakened when splinters and wooden roof tiles fell on top of them, quickly followed by a torrent of rain. Glaric jumped out of bed, nearly falling down as his legs got caught in the sheets.

“Seleana, love, are you alright?” he yelled above the sound of rain and thunder.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. A couple of bruises and soaking wet, nothing more.”

He struggled to light the candle but was finally able to see the damage. “The beam must have been rotten,” he commented to no-one in particular.

“It seemed fine by me,” Seleana said, coming to stand by his side.

He looked down at her. “There’s not much we can do now. I’ll find some help tomorrow and get it fixed. Let’s go down to the kitchen and dry up.”

They started a small fire and huddled in front of it, trying to dry up and get warm. Sleep evaded them for the rest of the night, and by the time dawn arrived, both had dark circles under their eyes. Once the light was strong enough, they went upstairs to inspect the damage.

“I need to hang these all up to dry,” Seleana sighed, gathering the sheets and blankets. “And the floor, gods the floor.” She let out another sigh. “I’ll be cleaning all day!”

Glaric inspected the roof. “I’m afraid this will take a day or two to get fixed.” He grimaced. “The entire beam needs to be replaced, which means we first have to deconstruct a big part of the roof.”

“Are you sure?” Seleana asked. “Can we afford that?”

“We’ll manage. The roofer still owes me a favour after I fixed his shoes a couple of months ago.”

Glaric could negotiate a fair price with the roofer and, with some help from his neighbours, work started later that same day. By the evening, the beam had been replaced.

“Tomorrow we can replace the tiles, and it will be as good as new,” Glaric announced, walking into the kitchen. He watched with a frown as his wife sorted through the crate with vegetables, all but throwing them out. “Everything ok?”

“It seems most of our vegetables have gone rotten,” she answered, disturbed. “I don’t understand, they were fresh.”

He went to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “It must be because of all the water that came in last night. We’ll buy new ones tomorrow.”

“There’s not much I can make for dinner,” she replied, leaning back against his chest.

“It will be fine. Make whatever you can. It’s only for today.”

The next day, Seleana went to buy more food while Glaric and the roofer finished the reparations of the roof. It was a setback, but not a disastrous one. They tried to settle back into their usual routine, but the next day Glaric found his wife once more furiously throwing vegetables out of the crate.

“They have gone rotten again!” she exclaimed, puzzled and thoroughly annoyed. “How is that possible? They always stay good for at least two or three days!”

“Perhaps there’s still some moisture captured in the wood of the crate, making the vegetables rot.” Glaric tried to calm his wife. “I will put it outside tomorrow so it can dry in the sun.”

“I hope our luck isn’t turning again,” Seleana whispered.

Glaric gave her a hug, pressing her against his chest. “I’m sure it isn’t, it will be fine. That custom job will be finished tomorrow, and we’ll have some more money. Don’t worry, dear.”

The problem with the vegetables, however, didn’t desist. They even went as far as ask the priest to bless their - now bone dry - chest, to no avail. Eventually it was decided that they would buy fresh vegetables each day until they could figure out the problem.

Sadly enough, the constant loss of vegetables did put a dent in the meagre savings they had been able to accumulate the last few weeks. Glaric worked long hours in order to make up for the lost money. It was during one of those late nights that the handle of his hammer suddenly broke in two. He swore loudly and looked at it in astonishment. In all his years as a shoemaker, it was a first.

Sighing, he decided to retire for the night and spare his wife the news of yet another setback. His tools were old, inherited from his father; it wasn’t surprising one would give out. If only the timing wasn’t so bad - he wouldn’t even have batted an eye. Tomorrow, on his way back from selling his shoes, he would ask the carpenter to fix him a new handle.

In the following days, one tool after another broke down in various ways. Glaric could no longer hide the misfortune from his wife and held her when she broke down in tears. Their money was dwindling fast, and there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

“Why? Why is this happening?” Seleana cried, clutching his shirt so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I don’t know,” he answered. For his wife’s sake, he was trying to keep a brave front, but in reality he feared their future just as much as her. “We can only be steadfast and try to keep going. As long as I can buy leather, there is hope.”

Their lives,  so recently lifted from the dark into the light, quickly turned dark again. When finally there were no tools left to break down - he had replaced them all - Glaric breathed a sigh of relief. From now on, it could only get better again, or so he thought.

* * *

Tripsy and Pipo stood in their usual spot, concealed by magic, watching the shoemaker’s house. Their skin had turned a shade darker than that of their fellow house elves, their eyes shone with malice. They laughed when the shoemaker’s wife started shrieking in a panic, forcing the shoemaker to drop what he was doing and rush towards her.

“What did you do?” Tripsy asked Bonnet when he returned.

“Rats,” Bonnet answered, grinning wildly.

“Woman scared of rats?” Pipo asked, still sniggering.

“They will destroy home. There is no cat to catch them. They are diseased.”

The two turned to Bonnet, impressed.

“Clever,” Pipo stated.

“Make them sick, make them suffer,” Tripsy acknowledged.

They watched with glee as the couple desperately tried to rid themselves of the unwanted creatures, not succeeding. For three weeks now, they returned day after day to watch them suffer. The need for vengeance consumed them, making them forget their grief and once more giving them a purpose. They congratulated themselves on their success.

Right before their eyes, Glaric and Seleana once more became gaunt and underfed. The elves could see the despair growing in their eyes and could only grin in return. As predicted, the rats ravaged their home, nibbling on clothes and furniture, destroying what little food they had stored.

Several days later, Seleana got sick. What started as a running nose quickly developed into a violent cough and wheezing breath. The elves watched as Glaric valiantly tried to take care of his wife, making her eat more than her share, starving himself on her behalf.

They saw him crying at the kitchen table, his resolve cracking under the onslaught of their misfortune. Eventually they saw him counting his money and going out, only to return with a doctor. The elves twitched their sensitive ears to follow the conversation.

“Glaric … We can’t .. _wheeze_ … afford a doctor. You should … _wheeze_ … buy food. Stay strong.”

“I cannot live without you,” Glaric answered.

There was a moment of silence before the doctor spoke up. “This is bad, this is bad indeed. You should have come to me sooner.”

“Didn’t … _wheeze_ … want to.”

“I can prescribe some medicine.”

“Please, we can’t afford them. It took most of our money to simply get you here. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“She needs to rest and drink a lot of water. If you can, give her some honey; that might help a bit. I will write down a list of herbs that might help if you draw tea from them. Perhaps some of the farmers are willing to give you them for free.”

The doctor left, soon followed by Glaric, who headed out to the market. The elves followed him as he spoke to various farmers. Most of them shook their heads, others vaguely told him to try again tomorrow. There were no herbs to be found.

That evening, the trio huddled together in the cave they still inhabited.

“What to do next?”

“Ideas, ideas.”

“We broke the roof.”

“Rotted the food.”

“Destroyed the tools.”

“What to do next?”

They pondered on their possibilities.

“The leather?” Tripsy offered.

“Yes, destroy the leather,” Bonnet agreed.

Pipo nodded.

“Tomorrow night,” Tripsy planned. “Leave him with hope tomorrow, see it destroyed the day after.”

Their eyes and teeth glittered eerily in the firelight as they once more grinned at each other.

* * *

As discussed, they left the shoemaker be for a full day before they once more broke into his workshop.

“Your idea, you do the honours,” Bonnet remarked, motioning Tripsy to the leather in the corner. The man was once more down to two pieces.

“Certainly,” Tripsy answered with a mock bow. Stepping forward, he ran his fingers over the leather. A soft glow covered the sheets before disappearing. “There,” he said. “Let’s come back tomorrow to watch the show.”

From their favourite vantage point, the trio watched the shoemaker work with baited breath. It was only a matter of time before the leather would turn brittle and break. Tripsy made sure the flaws weren’t visible on the sheet, but would suddenly turn up as the leather was handled.

As Glaric was attaching the toe cap, the leather finally cracked. Distraught, he started cursing, throwing the shoe through the workshop in a fit of anger.

“Glaric?” Seleana called from the bed, still horribly sick. “Love, what’s wrong?”

The elves heard her calling, but Glaric himself was oblivious. With interest, the trio watched the frail woman struggle to get up from the bed. Trembling, she moved towards the door, intent to get to her husband in the workshop. She repeatedly called out to him, but her voice hardly carried and he didn’t hear her.

As she descended the stairs, Pipo turned to his companions, a truly frightening look on his face. He snapped his fingers. With a screech that surprised even the passerby on the street, she tumbled down, breaking her neck on impact.

Pipo laughed maniacally as Glaric shouted his wife’s name, rushing into the house. He wailed as he saw his wife at the bottom of the stairs. A cry so pained, so filled with sorrow it seemed to come from the deepest parts of hell itself, tore from his throat. He collapsed next to her, patting at her, trying to wake her even though he knew there was no hope. Her blank, dead eyes stared at him, the fright of falling still visible in them. He swiped some hair out of her face and closed her eyelids, before protectively curling around her body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Outside, three elves congratulated each other.

For days they merely watched how Glaric destroyed himself in his grief. Neighbours had to forcefully pull him from Seleana’s body so she could be taken by the coroner. Between then and the funeral, he mostly sat and stared in the distance, not eating, hardly sleeping. The day of the funeral, he trashed his workshop, destroying his last hope of a future. With the final bit of his money, he bought heaps of alcohol, drowning himself in it, forgetting or not caring about eating.

The initial support of his neighbours dwindled when he didn’t show any signs of improvements. Where once was acceptance for his grieving was now a condescending tolerance of his perpetual state of drunken stupor.

The elves revelled in their success. Day after day they returned to watch the man they once were so proud to be helping as he descended further into Hell. When finally Glaric was too weak and too drunk to do much more than lie in his bed, the elves decided upon their final act. As the night fell and twilight was upon them, a burning coal hopped out of the fireplace to smoke against the leg of a forgotten chair.

Bonnet, Tripsy, and Pipo danced and celebrated as the house eventually went up in flames. Glaric’s dying shrieks could be heard over the roar of the blazing inferno. The fire-bells rang through the streets and the citizens frantically tried to put out the flames, trying to prevent the fire from spreading.

“Pain, pain, so much pain!” Pipo sung, dancing around.

“Looks beautiful against the night’s sky,” Bonnet mused.

“We created art, we are artists,” Tripsy laughed.

“You three seem way too happy to watch that house burn. Shouldn’t you go help your Master? Like good little elves?”

The trio swirled around at the voice behind them, arms raised to fend off a possible attack. When the man merely looked down at them with curiosity, they explained.

“We set fire.”

“We want it to burn.”

“We were freed.”

“Clothed.”

“Disgraced elves.”

“And it’s the Muggle man’s fault.”

“We helped him.”

“He clothed us.”

They ended their fragmented explanation in unison, looking more like devils than respected house elves. “We took our revenge.”

The man started laughing. “I like the way you three think. And who gave you the idea to help a Muggle in the first place? They’re hardly worthy.”

“Deputy Master,” Tripsy answered.

“Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,” Bonnet clarified.

“He’s to be next,” Pipo spoke up.

Bonnet and Tripsy glanced at Pipo and at each other.

“His idea, his fault.”

“Yes, he’s to be next.”

The wizard looked down at them. “Figures it would be him,” he murmured. “How would you like to work for a new Master?” he continued, addressing the trio. “Work for me?”

The elves looked at him in surprise.

“Sir would do that?” Tripsy questioned.

“Who’s sir?” Bonnet wanted to know.

“Grindelwald, Gellert Grindelwald.”


End file.
